


come rest for the winter

by vachement



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23679478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vachement/pseuds/vachement
Summary: When the winter wind rustled the curtains of the shitty inn they were staying in, Jaskier knew his time with Geralt was coming to a close for the year. He’d been ignoring the turn of the seasons, the chill in the air and the death of the plants, for as long as he could, but it was becoming impossible to avoid now.Winter was here, and it was time for his and Geralt’s paths to diverge.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 23
Kudos: 740





	come rest for the winter

**Author's Note:**

> title from "wild blue yonder" by the amazing devil
> 
> enjoy!!

When the winter wind rustled the curtains of the shitty inn they were staying in, Jaskier knew his time with Geralt was coming to a close for the year. He’d been ignoring the turn of the seasons, the chill in the air and the death of the plants, for as long as he could, but it was becoming impossible to avoid now.

Winter was here, and it was time for his and Geralt’s paths to diverge.

Every winter since they’d met, Geralt had gone home to Kaer Morhen to do whatever Witchery thing he did up there in the mountains, and Jaskier had gone to Oxenfurt to teach for a season. They always met up again in the spring, some years later than others (Jaskier remembered one year where he’d been stuck in classes for most of spring, and Geralt had ridden in the day before the summer solstice to find him, convinced he’d been eaten, or something. That was a good memory). Despite knowing they’d find each other again, Jaskier couldn’t help but to hate the season spent apart, no matter how used to it he was.

With a quiet groan, Jaskier climbed out of bed, shivering in the cold air. He shrugged on his doublet as quickly as he could, then set about packing his bags. Geralt would want to leave as soon as it was light out, and Jaskier could at least get those extra few minutes of walking together if he was ready in time. 

There wasn’t much: he just shoved his songbook in his pocket, folded his extra doublets carefully into his pack, and grabbed his lute. He was careful not to make noise, but Geralt’s amber eyes blinked into awareness from where he was laying on the bed. Jaskier could feel Geralt’s eyes on him as he straightened, holding his bag and lute, right as the first rays of sunlight broke through the thin curtains. 

“Morning, Geralt,” he said cheerily, turning to face the Witcher. “I figured we’d get an early start; I have a ways to go, after all, and I know Kaer Morhen is no easy trek, either.”

Geralt grunted in what Jaskier interpreted as agreement. He slid out of the bed, graceful as a cat, and grabbed his swords from where they rested on the floor. In seconds, he was ready to leave. Jaskier envied him for it, just a little bit. His own hair was still a mess, his eyes puffy from sleep, and he could’ve used another ten minutes to at least attempt to look presentable. He had no doubt Geralt would leave without him if he took too long, though, so he fixed his hair with one hand and gestured towards the door with the other. 

“Let’s be on our way!” Jaskier said brightly, strumming a happy chord on his lute. Geralt looked at him like he was insane.

“Have you been drugged?” asked the Witcher, a thread of concern in his voice.

Jaskier huffed. “I can be peppy in the mornings if I want to,” he argued. “I’m always filled with cheer at the asscrack of dawn. This is normal.”

Geralt watched him for a long moment. “Hmm.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Jaskier waved a hand, no small amount of fondness in his voice. “Next time, I’ll just sleep in, and you can walk without me. Is that what you want? It’d be--”

“Yes.”

“--so quiet and boring-- wait, what?” Jaskier spluttered indignantly. God, if he could remember why he woke up early to get that extra half hour with his Witcher. “You, Geralt of Rivia, are an _asshole_. Just for that, I’m going to talk so much more, you just wait.”

Geralt tried to hide it, but Jaskier could see his lips twitch up in what one could generously call a smile. Jaskier took it as a victory. 

“Come on,” Geralt said gruffly, as if compensating for the fact that he’d been amused for a half-second. “It’s a long walk.”

Jaskier hurried to follow him out the door. True to his word, he chattered all the while, enough that even Roach tried to nip him once or twice. He danced out of her way and kept talking; if it was to be the last time he saw Geralt in months, he’d damn well say as much as he pleased. How else would he remember Geralt’s variety of “hmm”s? 

He said as much to Geralt, who smacked the back of his head lightly and kept riding.

Sooner than Jaskier would have liked, they came upon the crossroads. The road to Oxenfurt lay to the left, while the road to Kaer Morhen was to the right. He hefted his lute more securely on his back and made to go left.

“I’ll see you in the spring,” Jaskier promised, a touch too sincere for the airiness he’d been going for. “Until we meet again.”

“Where are you going?” asked Geralt, a confused wrinkle between his eyebrows.

Jaskier coughed delicately. “Ah, left?” he pointed down the path he had planned to take. “Oxenfurt, to the best of my knowledge, is this way. Unless, of course, your Witchery navigation skills have proven me wrong, in which case I would be grateful if you told me the right way to go.”

“Kaer Morhen is this way,” Geralt looked at Jaskier like he was an idiot. 

“Yes,” Jaskier said patiently. “So you have fun in your Witcher fortress, and I’ll see you come spring, yeah?”

Now Geralt looked almost hurt. It was subtle; Jaskier only noticed because he spent more of his time than he was willing to admit watching Geralt’s microexpressions. “You’re not coming?”

“I winter at _Oxenfurt_ ,” Jaskier pointed out, still lost. "You've never invited me to Kaer Morhen."

“That’s never once stopped you.”

Jaskier huffed. Technically, the Witcher wasn’t wrong. “There’s a difference between following you around town to town and following you to your _home_ ,” he spluttered anyway. “I wouldn’t want to intrude. I mean, you barely tolerate me now; I’m not going to push my luck. You deserve a season of peace from me, I reckon.” And, _god_ , if that didn't sting to say.

“I tolerate you,” Geralt said after a beat, gruff as ever, but Jaskier could hear some fondness. Maybe. If he strained his ear. To be fair, a sentence like that was practically a declaration of love from Geralt, so Jaskier figured he was well within his rights to read into it.

Jaskier was starting to get an inkling of what Geralt wanted, but he refused to make assumptions. He didn’t want to say it out loud and be wrong, if he was being honest. Just thinking it had traitorous hope flaring in his chest, and that would be hard enough to smother. “If you’re angling for something,” he said. “You actually have to tell me. I know I have you fooled with my affability and general charisma, but I can’t actually read minds. Go on, use your words.”

“Hmm.” 

“Your _words_ , Geralt,” Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “Not your weird grunting. Come on now, we don’t have all day.”

Geralt looked like he was in actual, physical pain at the thought of having to use his words. Jaskier couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t enjoying this a little bit. “Come to Kaer Morhen with me,” he said finally, his golden eyes intense where they met Jaskier’s. “Stay the winter.”

Jaskier’s first instinct was to joke and make light of the offer, but he bit down on it, seeing the vulnerability in Geralt’s gaze. The Witcher was almost fidgeting with discomfort where he was saddled, and his eyes had flicked away from Jaskier’s. Frankly, it looked like he was expecting a declination, like he was expecting that Jaskier didn’t want to spend every waking moment (and the sleeping ones, too) with him.

It was no secret to anyone (well, except maybe Geralt) that Jaskier was nursing… _feelings_ for his Witcher companion. He figured that he’d bottle them up in his chest, and one day he’d die, and that would be that. Jaskier fell in love once a day, anyway; this was probably no more than a passing fancy. 

(If he repeated it enough times, maybe he’d believe it.)

So he put on his most serious face, recognizing the gravity of what Geralt was asking him. “If it’s allowed,” he said, somewhat nervous. “I didn’t think pesky humans could come to the Witchers’ keep; I figured we’d be thrown right back down the mountain. Gotta protect your secrets and all, right?”

“No human has ever wanted to before,” Geralt admitted in a soft rumble.

“I’ve said this before and will most definitely say it again, but most humans-- myself not included, of course-- are _idiots_ ,” Jaskier said primly, throwing in a derisive sniff for good measure. “Yes, I want to. I just didn’t think I was welcome.”

“Of course you’re welcome,” Geralt said, then quickly turned his face away from Jaskier. He wasn’t quite fast enough to hide the faint flush on his cheeks, though he did seem determined to ignore it, if his forward stare was any indication.

Geralt’s words warmed Jaskier to his very core, even with the winter chill in the air. Something he didn't want to address fluttered in his throat, and he had to put conscious effort into not stumbling over his feet as he followed Geralt down the path to the right, away from Oxenfurt. Geralt seemed to be just about done with words, but Jaskier was practically bursting with questions.

“So!” he clapped his hands. “Are there going to be other Witchers there? Speaking of other Witchers, do they all share your broody demeanor, or will I be able to find someone willing to share actual details? Oh, is there a library of some kind? I--”

“Stop talking before I change my mind,” Geralt deadpanned. Jaskier wasn’t concerned; Geralt always spoke in a deadpan (also, they both knew he wasn’t going to change his mind). 

Jaskier grinned so wide his face hurt. “Shutting up, shutting up,” he promised, and then proceeded to not shut up. Jaskier could tell from Geralt’s face (and the fact that the Witcher didn’t stab him) that Geralt didn’t really mind.

**Author's Note:**

> what did you think?
> 
> comments and kudos make me smile :))


End file.
